“I was in my office late, again. Not because I had work, but because I had no where else to go. In my business, which is gettin’ in other’s business, you lose friends quicker that donuts disappear in a cop shop.
Rent was past due. I already lost my apartment, and my last girlfriend decided she wanted a glass half full kinda guy. Me, I was just a ‘lucky I even had a glass’ kinda guy. I guess that got old. So, she left me for some dumb baby-district attorney. . .a newbie in the world where promotions are based on the number of convictions instead of the dispensation of justice. Well, he can have her. There are enough dumb blondes out there to go around. . .a few times.
Speaking of which, I looked up from my research into the world of internet porn and saw one standing in my doorway. I must have forgotten to lock the door, again.
She had a wad of cash in one hand, and a gun in the other. For some reason, after I saw the look on her face, the wad of cash worried me more. The gun I could deal with. . .she was holding it like a dead fish: with her thumb and index finger, at arms length. She was crying, and was barely dressed in torn sweater and short skirt. The sweater was barely covering an ample bosom, and her legs went all the way from the ground and disappeared into her almost not there skirt. I noticed these things because, well, that’s who I am, what I do,
‘Put those away before someone gets hurt,’ I said. . .meaning the gun and the money.
‘I think he’s dead,’ she said, in a wail that sounded uncomfortably like the sirens getting closer outside.
Looks like my life just got more interesting. . .finally!”
The above story is fiction, and not at all representative of the life of most PI’s. Surprised, eh? Well, not if you are a licensed PI.
Unfortunately, many of the unindoctrinated (read:clients) think that’s what a PI’s life is like. But those in the business know better.
We are not like the television or movie PI’s. We don’t indiscriminately get into shootouts with bad guys, go on car chases in unmarked cars , or beat up ex-husbands to protect the damsel in distress.
We are business people, who need to keep our licenses from being yanked by the state because some overzealous deputy district attorney doesn’t like the fact that our investigation was more thorough then their cop’s.
We need to follow the rules of the road so that we don’t crash our cars trying to follow a guy that may be faking a work injury, causing us to lose our driver’s licenses and insurance.
And we sure as hell don’t want to get arrested for threatening some punk stalking the daughter of your best attorney client because, more than likely, he practices cage fighting and would kick our collective asses, then call the cops.
First and foremost, we protect ourselves. Second, we do the best we can for our clients, within the law.
After that, we wallow in our imagination, and transport ourselves to the world of Sam Spade and the mysterious beautiful woman who walks into our office, needing us to make everything better.
Disclaimer: This story wouldn’t have worked without the reference to the stereotypical PI from the 1940’s and 1950”s genre television shows and movies. No offense or insult was intended to all of the professional and successful female PI’s out there working their tails off in a very difficult industry.